


Paint My Spirit Gold

by rivlee



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-04 17:30:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/713248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivlee/pseuds/rivlee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Major Spoilers for Episode 6 of War of the Damned.</b> Two friends meet in the afterlife.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paint My Spirit Gold

**Author's Note:**

> **Spoilers for Episode 6 of WotD. If you have not seen it, do not read this.**

The stench of death and decay filled Donar’s nostrils as he defiantly stared into the eyes of the fucking Roman traitor standing over him. Death had passed over him once tonight, but it would not do so again. He would not give that fucking Roman cunt this; this chance for added glory with the end of Donar’s life. Death before dishonor; the mantra was drilled into his brain since he was a boy. It followed him from war, to the ludus, to rebellion, and now here. 

_There is always a choice_

Donar listened to the haunting voice that whispered through his mind. With sword in hand he made his choice. They may have captured him, but they would _not_ conquer him. 

“ _Swallow cock, you Roman shit_ ,” he said.

His gaze firmly held that of the man before him, supposed friend of Nemetes, as his hands grasped the cool blade. He did not hesitate to thrust upward, stabbing through his own bone and skin. The shock there, in the eyes, was reward. Even if he could not form a smile, Donar went to death with laughter in his mind.

 

******************

 

He could smell roasted boar. The proper scent, not the shit the Romans tried to pass off. He hadn’t tasted such since childhood. Deep voices sang old songs and Donar swore he could taste mead in the air.

“Wake up, brother. My voice must work only, for I fear your words if I hold a bird over you,” a joyful voice whispered in his ear. 

Donar forced his eyes open. It was a struggle to adjust to the world around him. The colors were so bright and everything seemed so big. He was not on the cold, blood stained stones of Sinuessa en Valle. There was warm oak and furs under his feet. He dropped his gaze to the man who stood before him and almost dropped in shock.

“Duro,” he stuttered out.

Duro nodded as he grinned. His hair was long and unmatted; his smile wide; and his eyes danced with life. There was no trace of death upon him. He embraced Donar with strong arms that did not tremble. “Welcome to the Hall of Heroes, brother. I’ve been waiting for you. All these fucks mock my use of our Common Tongue. They say I spent too much time among Romans and my tongue has gone weak.” He stepped back and patted Donar’s shoulders. The smile slipped from his face. “I know it is hard to adjust, but I shall gladly be your guide.”

He walked over to one of the tables and grabbed a mug. “Drink up,” he said as he pressed it into Donar’s hands. “We have much to talk about.”

The night passed on in an ever confusing wave of song and stories. Donar did not know any of the other faces here. A bell rung out and some stood up and left.

“Where do they go?” Donar asked.

“To their homes and families,” Duro said as he tore off a piece of bread. “Life here is much like life there, except we’re all dead. No reason not to continue to feast and enjoy until we are reborn or the gods call us to fight in their battles. Even you, one day, will leave this place.”

“You have no wife or man here to entertain?” Donar asked. It was easy to tease Duro as he and Hamilcar once had in the ludus. He was the youngest of them all then. Now his eyes showed the depth and loss that was often reflected in Agron’s. There was a weight to Duro’s gaze now, a knowledge there that stole Donar’s breath. 

“I have not been so blessed yet,” Duro said. 

Of course, Duro had never known love while he was alive. Neither had Donar and the space where his heart should’ve rested clenched as he thought of Mira. 

“Still as lonely as ever,” Donar murmured. 

“Some of us wait,” Duro said. He laughed. “I have learned patience only in death. All I have now, all any of us have, is time. So I watch and I wait. I tell stories and learn. I’ve become one of the knowledge keepers. Never imagined such a life for myself. Afterlife, I should say. In all the mythologies about the Great Tree and Great Horse and Great Serpent, they neglect to inform you it all comes with a Great Taskmaster as well. We all have our parts to play, and I am not quite ready to leave this Hall yet.” 

“Agron,” Donar guessed. 

Duro nodded. His hand gripped Donar’s own. “Thank you, for protecting him and for taking care of him when he sought death to end his own pain. You did me great honor to take up such a task.”

Donar stared at the hand resting over his. It felt warm, heavy, and real. How could this, _any_ of this be true. Perhaps it wasn’t; perhaps this was what the gods taunted him with for his moments when he lacked faith and cursed their names. 

“If I hadn’t protected him, he would already be here. Should you not welcome his death?”

Duro snorted. “You would be one of the doubters. I should’ve known you to be as much a difficult fuck in death as you were in life. The gods had a different journey for Agron, one where you were at his side. Our parts to play, remember?”

“What of Nasir?” Donar asked. “Do you honestly think your brother will settle for an Afterlife _here_ if Nasir is not a part of it.”

Donar assumed Duro knew of Nasir; he must have if he’d seen Donar protect Agron. 

Duro shrugged. “Nasir has his own choices to make when Death finally comes for him. All we have is time, Donar, time to watch and wait. They say all the Afterlives of all the worlds are connected somehow. There are those seek the common path which binds them. Perhaps once Agron joins us here, we will take such a journey down that road. Until then, I will share my tales with you and you will learn to believe.” 

There was an order laced between those words. Duro’s held a power that had always been absent while in the ludus. Donar would not argue with him. He had no other path to follow; no loved ones or friends he wished to see. He smiled at Duro over the rim of his mug and, for the first time in years, let his guard relax.


End file.
